


Harpy's Milk, V1

by ZenzaoDLP



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, Multi, Threesome - F/F/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenzaoDLP/pseuds/ZenzaoDLP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Returning home late one night after a successful Quidditch match, Harry find's more than he bargained for going on in Ginny's bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harpy's Milk, V1

  
**Harpy’s Milk,** a precautionary tale on the Veela charm and emotionally distressed men.

"... and he's done it, ladies and gentlemen, Seeker Potter has clasped the elusive snitch in his right hand! The game is over! The Chudley Cannons have triumphed against the Diema Dozens by a final tally of 430 to 280!" The magnified voice of Katie Bell, now retired from the field for ten months, boomed over the crowds of Calydfych Stadium in southern Wales on their feet in staggering uproar.  
  
Harry circled the foggy field with his right hand held high, the Snitch's tiny little wings furrowed and beating futilely against the enclosing leather, gradually soaking in the relief that came to his senses in the aftermath of two and a half hours in the air. Not even the Saddlesore Charm lasted that long on a modern broomstick, not with the maneuvers required of professional Quidditch players.   
  
"Bloody good job, Ron, McLaggen," he said to his nearest teammates. They returned his greeting and then some, “We did it, Harry! We’re through to the Internationals!” and “Wait until you see what we’ve got in stock for celebration, Potter, It’ll put our New Years’ victory to shame!” Harry smiled around the fatigue and waved them off.  
  
Fifteen minutes later he was on the ground and on his way home, having autographed a handful of most-determined fans’ flyers around the back-alley curtains. They swore to keep mum about his departure, and for once the adoring public did not disappoint, as he did indeed find himself on the way out of the anti-disapparation field toward Hogsmeade for a quick shower and to gather supplies without further molestation. Most of the celebrations in the Cannons’ locker room would go on until well after midnight, but personally, he had a more direct preference in mind for where and with whom to get sloshed, involving his fiancée and the finest Egyptian cotton sheets a house-elf could weave together.  
  
An hour after the match concluded saw Harry walking into Godric's Hollow with a bottle of Ambrosia Amour's finest tucked underneath one arm, a pint of Honeyduke's Stimuli Syrup under the other, and his wand bobbing over his left hip from his jeans underneath his every-day robes. He smelled of rosewater and dove soap, far preferable to the female senses than armpit and crotch sweat, or so he’d been told on most occasions.   
  
The sleepy little village felt peaceful, few lights still lit in the windows he passed, while he was wide awake and rarin’ to go, and a wicked smile played about his lips as he thought, _She may be in bed, but she won’t be asleep this soon. We both expected the match to go on much longer._  
  
Thus, as he came upon the newly renovated Potter household, the idea filled him to surprise his would-be-wife and proceed to ravish her to within an inch of their lives.  
  
He shrunk both bottles then and slid them into a pocket, a quick, whispered sticking- and silencing charm muting any clinking that could occur. He checked to be sure the perimeter klaxon remained primed around the household and carefully toed his way through it, nudging this way and that past the wards using the field experience acquired during his brief stint as a curse breaker under Bill's guidance several years ago. In no time at all he was on his merry way, door gliding silently shut at his back, tiptoeing past the stairs to the upper floor and the bedroom adjacent it, and through the doorway into the kitchen.  
  
He added two shrunken wine glasses, a bottle of powdered cherries and can of cream from the pantry, and a dish towel for cleaning up afterward into his pockets. Then he made his way around to the remodeled first floor bedroom, alohamora’d the bedroom door and swung it open, beaming, only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight that greeted him.  
  
Ginny sat on the edge of their bed in her soft pink nightie, a gradually filling bucket between her spread legs, her hands wrapped around the finest set of udders he had ever seen on a feathered cow. “Oh!” she exclaimed between motions. The cow mooed distressingly, turning a shapely head that contoured more toward the avian than the grass-eater. Hard fiery blue eyes glared at him.   
  
“Is that…" _a magical cow in our bedroom at a quarter to eleven_ , _what kind of secret kink is this?_ He decided against blurting _that_ out and asked instead, "... what is going on?”  
  
Ginny's nimble fingers resumed action, tugging on the fat udders. The cow mooed again rather moodily. "I know you weren't expecting company, Harry. But she found me at the hospital at the end of my shift and I couldn't just leave her there, not after the ceremony." Nonplussed at the situation, all he could do was stand there watching. She squeezed, another rich burst of milk gushing into the already too full bucket, and as a result over splash dashed across her pale legs from mid-thigh to ankle.   
  
"Oh. Dear, won't you lend a hand?" Ginny reached down to wipe carelessly at the glistening milk with her fingertips, edge of her nightie jumping with the movement.  
  
Harry felt his pulse do a little jig. _Thank Merlin this isn't some mad fetish. This isn't the norm and I can get clearer answers later._ "Sure thing, Gin," he said.  
  
He took out the towelette in one hand and his wand in the other, a few choice spells loosening his belt and slinging it over the nightstand. He vanished the contents of the bucket without much concern for where exactly it went. Then he knelt down, passed his fiancee the cloth, and took the nearest weeping teat into hand.  
  
Ginny knew how to play her audience. She spread her legs further, leaned back to offer more light, lifted one leg up to better reach her sole, and with his emerald gaze burning intently on her every move Ginny wiped up the proxy for his cum. She smiled wickedly at the rising in his jeans, the rush of his breath, delighting that he was always so pliable after a hard match.  
  
Harry's grip momentarily yanked instead of firmly pulled. In response, the cow's sturdy tail swung ‘round and clocked him on the side of the head. Harry winched at a blow to shame a bludger and lost his balance, stumbling backwards, his hands reaching out for the nearest available surface as he fell - which just so happened to be the front legs of the feathery bovine. His wand clattered somewhere to the side as it rolled away and the cow mooed in desperate protest.  
  
Then they thudded to the floor together, and most of the air in his lungs exploded out in a violent, "Oomph!" of protest. But when Harry blinked opened his eyes he found those startlingly bright orbs up close and glaring at him from the hawkish lines of the creature's face, only scant inches over his own. So close that, had he not known better, he would have sworn on his godfather's grave that they really _were_ human underneath.  
  
Ginny stifled a laugh at his consternation. “Oh, Harry, how do you keep getting into these situations?”   
  
He motioned desperately for Ginny’s assistance as he tried to no avail to push the cow up by physical force alone. The hooves clacked against the floor uselessly.  
  
“A little help, please,” he wheezed. Then before his eyes and for the second time in so many minutes, Harry was driven to silence at what his gaze beheld. The feathered-cow shivered and began to regress. The thicker grass-chewer aspects went first, leaving an avian-human blend gradually shedding her glossy blue feathers.  
  
He froze.  
  
Long blond hair curled down from the molting scalp. Piercing blue eyes, screwed up with some awful blend of rage, regret, and not a little lust, watched his own widen with comprehension. Her Beauxbaton blue gown hung open at the breast, and on all fours splayed atop his body, Fleur's magnificent rack fell into the clutches of gravity, heavy teardrop mounds peaked by sore, weeping, pinched-pink aureole.   
  
“You are an awful man, Harry Potter,” she intoned in her clipped French accent.  
  
Ginny sat up, climbed down, and offered her lips to Fleur's ear, nibbling the delicate flesh. The half-veela shivered, be it with frustration or hunger he did not know. "I hope you're feeling better. I'm sure Harry didn't mean to hurt you like your old lover did."  
  
Fleur turned that ferocious stare away from him to latch lips together with his fiancee's. Ginny motioned him to get back to work, moaning indelibly into the kiss.  
  
_What the hell has happened since I woke up this morning_ , he wondered in a daze of hormones tempered by embarrassment. But like any hot blooded young man in the presence of two passionately enveloped witches, he kicked logic to the curb and shucked out of his constraints. Whatever was going on with Fleur she seemed to be taking in the situation with gusto, beads of saliva dripping down from their chins to pool beside his left shoulder.  
  
Feeling neglected Harry slid forward and sat up to capture a moist nipple in his mouth. At once the foreign witch poised over his body stiffened, a dribble of sweat milk pouring across his taste buds.   
  
Ginny took the welcome break to breath, her smile just as pleased as Hermione's old pet Crookshanks after catching a pack of fairies. "I told you he was good with his mouth." Fleur nodded. She resumed their kiss.

End of Chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, folks. What you've just read is the result of an irc discussion from last December revolving largely around Fleur and a non-existent animagus form, and several folks piped up that given her natural beauty, it might just be ironic that she becomes a cow. Once that was firmly cheered for(this being irc) the discussion naturally unfolded on the issue of if she'd need to be milked, and well... several users volunteered to try their hand at writing such, myself included. After some rough goes at Harry winding on Fleur's doorstep, I reversed that trend and had a heart-broken Fleur go to Godric's Hollow and set things into motion. 
> 
> This is the first(and unfinished) take that I'm going to eventually go forward with at some point. But I am also working on a revised version that doesn't go the way of the cow and smut so early on and will be more oriented on the development of relationships and eventually segue into the sex. So yay if you were deeply disturbed by things here? Something to look forward to?


End file.
